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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27576923">A Tribute</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/KathyKnudsen/pseuds/KathyKnudsen'>KathyKnudsen</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Alias Smith and Jones</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 21:29:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>770</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27576923</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/KathyKnudsen/pseuds/KathyKnudsen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Blackjack Jenny Black</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Tribute</h2></a>
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    <p>It was a cool, overcast late autumn day. The trees were nearly bare but the ground was blanketed in crisp, golden leaves that had not yet surrendered their color to the now encroaching winter. Kid Curry and Hannibal Heyes stood silently beneath a tree near the top of a hill overlooking the cemetery where only a scattering of people had gathered around the open grave.</p><p>Too far away to hear the minister's words, they stood with their heads bowed, their hats respectfully in their hands pressed against the jackets of their dress suits. Though not a relative, this was a woman for whom they had great admiration, a strong woman who had faced so very many perils in life, yet whose heart was gentle, kind, and open to all.</p><p>A woman they had both loved. This was the woman for whom they now grieved.</p><p>Jenny Black had been like a mother to both Heyes and Curry. The had met her just days after escaping the orphanage when she caught them trying to steal apples and carrots from the display bushels just outside the Mercantile in the little town of Webster, Kansas. But instead of turning them in to the store owner, Jenny had grabbed each one by the earlobe, told them in no uncertain terms to drop the stolen goods, then marched them both down the street to her small house.</p><p>There she led them to her kitchen table, warned them not to so much as shift in their seats, then poured them each a glass of milk, fixed them both a sandwich, and topped the meal off with a piece of apple pie she had warmed on the stove.</p><p>While the boys ate heartily, Jenny questioned them. They older boy, who said he went by the name of Heyes answered her questions, while the younger boy kept his head down and uttered not a word.</p><p>It was the younger boy, the quiet one, with his mop of curly blonde hair and his crystal blue eyes that had endeared himself to her. He was so like her own son, Billy, and she knew they would quickly find a worthy companion of the other once Billy got home from school.</p><p>The boys, Heyes especially, were reluctant to linger once they were finished eating. But Jenny's promise of a warm bed, a hot breakfast, and a sack lunch to send them on their way the next day was enough to change their minds.</p><p>And Jenny was true to her word and more. She gave Heyes a black coat that had belonged to her husband, telling him he would soon grow into it. She gave Kid one of Billy's coats. Then she handed them each their sack lunches and watched them head out the door and quickly vanish down the street. It was not until hours later that they each discovered a ten dollar gold piece tucked in an envelope in each of their coats. On the envelope, Jenny had written her name and address and told them they were always welcome in her home.</p><p>Over the years, they had kept in touch, visited infrequently, but had always managed to send her two ten dollar gold pieces for Christmas each year.</p><p>They met up with Jenny for the last time in Touchstone, New Mexico where Jenny had traveled in search of her son Billy, who she suspected had been murdered. In the end, it was Heyes who broke the news to her that her suspicions had been correct.</p><p>The lives of these three people had interwoven many times throughout the years, and now, with Jenny's passing, Heyes and Curry felt compelled to honor this woman who had in many ways served as surrogate mother, loyal friend, and a person of refuge to them both.</p><p>They stood silently on the hill and watched the casket being lowered into the ground, the dirt being moved into place, the single stem flowers being tossed on to the dirt, and they watched the people slowly move away from the grave and away from the cemetery.</p><p>Holding tight to the reins of their horses, they walked slowly down the hill and approached the now fresh grave. Both stood with solemn reverence, heads bowed, offering their own silent prayers and thoughts</p><p>Then each reached into a vest pocket and withdrew a ten dollar gold coin and gently placed it near the marker. Finally, they straightened, turned, and climbed onto their horses and lingered for yet another moment.</p><p>"We love you, Jenny," Heyes whispered as they gave their reins a tug and rode off westward, toward the now setting sun.</p>
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